By Avea Jo
Jemima yawned largely, her pink tongue licking her top teeth. There were no stars or moon; clouds lined the sky. The air was hot and dry, and eveyone was anxiously awaiting the rain.
She was restless. The others were tired or sleeping, and Jemima was on her own to amuse herself. She walked through the junkyard, jumping at the shadows.
Something glinted within the shadow of a pile of wood, arousing her curiousity. She walked closer, very slowly and equally quietly…which was silent, you can be sure. Anticipation tingled up her spine.
The tiny shine of light reflected off her green eyes. Jemima approached it, until she could see-it was a small mirror. "Silly of me to be so scared; a mirror can't hurt you," she thought. She picked it up carefully and leaned it at an angle so she could see her reflection.
It really was lovely. It was oval, with gold-plated metal for a frame. The frame had flowers indented into it, and they were painted red. There was no stand, but a wire in the back to hang it upon a wall.
Jemima looked at herself in it. She rarely saw her own face, so she set out to memorize it. She stared, and stared, and stared, eyes darting from her nose to mouth to ears and to nose again. She jumped. She could have sworn there had been a silver star on her forehead-but, looking again, she saw nothing there. That was how Jellylorum found her.
"Jemmy, what are you doing?"
Jemima jumped again. "L-looking."
Jellylorum sighed. "You shouldn't be over here. See that wood?" She indicated towards the woodpile. "It's filled with nails and screws and splinters and other sharp things."
"Sorry," Jemima murmured, looking to the floor.
"It's alright-just stay away from here, okay?" Jemima nodded, and together they walked back to the junkyard proper.
* * *
Jemima didn't think much about that, except to wonder if Jellylorum had been mad. Everything passed slowly, until….
* * *
Tantomile was walking about one side of the junkyard. She had no reason for being there, and would later believe she had been sleeping. But at the moment, she was aware and walking.
A bright light flashed. At first Tantomile thought it was lightining, but she realised that no, it came from the ground. The feel of magic drew her closer.
In plain sight lay a beautiful necklace: it was a gold star locket, with a tiny moonstone in the centre. She picked it up by its thin, shining chain. The light pulsed softly and brightly. Tantomile stared at it, spellbound.
Then she pulled herself out of the trance and, for some reason, found Jemima.
"Hi Tantomile," Jemima said, smiling at the Queen. Tantomile smiled back.
"I found this," Tantomile said, holding out the necklace. The necklace stopped glowing as soon as Jemima laid eyes on it.
"It's beautiful," she breathed. "Where do you think it came from?"
"Probably some little thing Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer got on one of their raids," Tantomile answered. She paused. "Would you like to have it?"
"Me?" Jemima squeaked. She knew she ought to be polite and at least protest a little, but she couldn't and nodded eagerly. Tantomile fastened it around her neck.
Jemima was admiring it when she heard Tantomile gasp. She looked up.
"What is it?"
"N-nothing," Tantomile answered. She forced a laugh. "I must be tired, I thought I saw a star on your forehead." She turned and went to her home, forgetting completely these events.
Jemima watched her go for a moment, then looked down at her newfound jewlery. A purple light shot from the moonstone and hit her between the eyebrows. She felt the light like a flame, only it didn't burn painfully, it was more like she was merely aware of it.
She wasn't sure how long the light lingered there, but when it snapped off, the first thing Jemima did was touch the place where it had shone. She felt nothing, and nothing more of interest happened that night.
* * *
The next day Jemima awoke to the last remaining strands of sunlight. She lay in her home for a while, gathering her thoughts before getting up and walking to the junkyard proper. Very few Cats were awake.
Cassandra actually stopped grooming herself and stared at Jemima as she passed by. Munkustrap gave her a puzzled look. Old Deuteronomy frowned, and Victoria came right out and said, "You look weird!"
"What?" Jemima got out, her voice quiet with hurt, but Victoria had pranced away. She looked to Old Deuteronomy questioningly. He shook his head disapprovingly.
Tears of embarrassment and nervousness welling up in her eyes, Jemima ran off. She ran aimlessly, just looking to go somewhere, be somewhere away from them. After running for what seemed to Jemima a long time, she flopped down in a moldy cardboard box and clamped her eyes shut. Victoria made her feel bad, and Old Deuteronomy, who was usually warm and comforting, had looked at her with disdain.
Wondering what had happened, she fell asleep.
* * *
Jemima dreamt vividly. She dreamt she had lovely red wings and flew into clouds, where a castle stood on a piece of floating land. The land was filled with gardens and orchards. Rivers ran into waterfalls that fell through the clouds and seemed to keep falling forever. Everything there was peaceful and friendly.
Alas, it was only a dream….
* * *
Jemima pried open her eyes, heavy with sleep. Her fur was rumpled to some great extreme, and she was aware she must look pretty horrible. She stepped outside into the moonlight, not bothering to straighten out her fur. "I'll just avoid everyone," she thought, "and then they can't tease me for anything." She began to walk. Light from the moon shone off her locket and reflected on to her forehead again, but she didn't notice.
Apparently her plan of avoiding everyone didn't work as well as she had thought it would, for she had not gone four yards before she ran into Pouncival. She tried to jump back into the shadows, but he saw her.
"Jemima?" Pouncival whispered. "Jemmy, what's wrong? You can come out," he coaxed.
Reluctantly Jemima stepped into his vision. She saw him stifle a gasp. "They were mean to me today," she said, looking to the ground. "I'm not weird, am I?" She gave him her best Jemima eyes, something she had mastered.
Pouncival backed away. "J-jem, you've gotten really strange on me-"
She dropped the Jemima eyes. "What?" she asked, worried.
"I mean, first you get that tattoo-"
"Tattoo? Wh-what tattoo?"
"But the contacts-"
"Contacts? What are you talking about?"
"Ahh!" With that, Pouncival ran out of sight.
Fear growing inside of her, Jemima ran to that mirror she had found. Panting, she stared at herself.
A silver star shone from ther centre of her forehead, between her eyebrows. Her eyes were much too bright, and were lined with sort of an inner silver light. She screamed herself when she saw what had scared Pouncival away-scarlet wings protuding from her back.
"What's happening to me?" she asked to the no one that was there. "WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?!"
Jemima froze, listening for an answer. Nothing. Her eyes were heavy…. She blinked-
And she was home. Sunlight streamed in through the hole cut in her wall for a window. She looked to her back-no wings.
"It was a dream," she murmured, relief flooding her bloodstream. She sat up, and soon heard a distinct 'clack'.
"What?" Jemima looked down, and saw the locket accompanying her collar. "Mow! How did-"
Just then Pouncival knocked. "Jem? Where've ya been, lazybones?" Her head peeked out. "Pouncival?"
"Yeah? I've heard of beauty rest, but all night and all day-"
"Pouncival, do I look-different-to you?" Jemima asked, stepping closer.
"No," he answered, shaking his head. "Look, Jelly sent me to make sure you aren't ill or something. You okay?"
"Yeah, yeah," Jemima answered, rubbing her forehead. "Well, nice to see you. Wake me up again when the sun sets." With a flap of fabric, she disappeared into her home.
"Seriously, what happened?" Jemima wondered aloud as she paced. "I was there, then I wasn't. Was there, then blinked, then…wasn't. And why doesn't Pouncival remember?" She looked down to her locket, angry. "And what do *you* have to do with this?!" She ripped it off and threw it to the ground. The stone shattered and the hinges snapped, leaving only-pieces of locket.
"Oh!" Jemima tried to gather the pieces. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it, really…."
The moonstone had turned to moonstone dust. It swirled through the air, and Jemima watched, mesmerised.
The dust rose up. It flew faster, and seemed to be growing at the same time. With a sickening ripping sound, a circle formed. A circle in the very air.
The pieces of locket re-assembled themselves, now minus the moonstone. It wrapped itself around her neck and began pulling her towards the circle.
"Let me go!" Jemima yelled, trying to stay away. The locket was persistent. It gave her a sharp tug. "No, I don't want to go!"
The locket gave a painful yank. "Yes! Yes, you must come!" Jemima gasped and stopped resisting in shock. "You talked to me!"
The locket said nothing and pulled again. She fell into the circle. "Ahhh!"
Jemima was falling. "I'm going to fall, and fall, and - is there a bottom? What are you doing?" she demanded of the locket.
"Taking you-use your wings, idiot!"
Her scarlet wings were back. After a moment she puffed them open and slowed a little.
"Now flap!" Jemima did, and she was in control.
"Fly UP!" the locket ordered.
"Pushy, aren't we?" Jemima muttered as she stretched her wings wider.
"While we fly, I'll fill you in. My name is Firarth." The locket detached itself from her neck and melded into sort of a red eagle. "I am a Quith."
"Quith…?"
Firarth sighed. "I am of a superior species, and have no real form, so we can change into anything we like. I chose a locket because I knew you would approve of that shape." It looked up. "Ignore the clouds, just keep going straight."
"I have come to you by the orders of my lady Sifarow - that's see-far-OW, mind you-to ask for your assistance."
"My assistance? You must be joking-"
"I am not. You are a Feline, but…." Firarth looked at the star on her forehead. "Perhaps you are not entirely so. "I cannot tell you more, for we have reached our destination. My lady will take care of you from there."
Jemima looked ahead, and saw what she had before only seen in her dream: land, right in the middle of the sky. A tower-laden castle of purple stone stood proudly in the middle, gardens filled the rest. Water ran in clear rivers, then fell off the sides.
A beautiful black Queen was waiting for them. She grinned, and Jemima realised she was not much older than she was. Her face was decorated in purple markings, and there were rings upon her tail.
"Welcome!" the Queen said, clapping her paws excitedly. "Welcome to my land! I am Sifarow." Her eyes were dancing when she looked upon Jemima. "What is your name, One?"
"Jemima," Jemima answered, folding her wings against her back. They were a little tired.
"Jemima!" Sifarow repeated. "How exotic a name! Scribe! Where is my scribe?" She turned around and looked about. Jemima surpressed a giggle. This Queen was lovely, but she had reason to believe that maybe she was just a touch flighty as well.
Sifarow turned back to Jemima. A small yellow Tom, who seemed incredibly jumpy, ran up with some paper and a quill. "Jemima," Sifarow said, looking thoughtfully at the sky. Jemima realised there was no blue-only sun or stars. They were beyond the clouds.
"Lovely, lovely name," she continued. "Add it to my favourite names list. What others are on it? She will need a native name."
"M-might I sug-gest Xelya?" the scribe stuttered.
"Wonderful, wonderful, perfect! That will be her court name." Sifarow smiled at Jemima. "Xelya, Jemima, I'm so happy you're here!"
Jemima was shown to a tower room, exquisitely decorated. Her mind was filled with various thoughts, and they kept swimming so in her mind she was getting scatterbrained. Sifarow had her own artist come in and paint Jemima's face for court. Apparently here face paint was a sign of status. Purple was the highest colour; light green was next, after that scarlet, and so on. Jemima's face was painted with black. She was not sure which status this said she was, but didn't say anything, lest she sound dumb.
"What do we do in court?" Jemima asked as she followed Sifarow down the halls.
"Well, you're not really a member yet, so you have to be sworn in and we'll discuss the problems of the land. Then you'll go to our medicine Queen have to have your wings strengthened."
"That doesn't sound so bad," Jemima said.
"You have to be made to sleep for that," Sifarow added.
"Oh."
The courtroom was huge. The purple walls were painted with a mural of the land, and already about three hundred Cats had assembled on the floor. The kitten's faces were painted with blue, and the older Cats with yellow. A few of Sifarow's ladies-in-waiting had green, but not another had black.
Jemima was seated a few seats away from Sifarow, who gave a long speech before introducing Jemima as "Xelya of Jellicle". Jemima stood up and held back her blush as the Cats ooohed and aaahed at her.
They had her swear she would do as Sifarow said and not break any rules. Jemima did, willingly.
"Now to explain and discuss why Xelya was brought here," Sifarow said, and Jemima's ears perked up. This was what she had been waiting to hear.
"As you all know, we are being threatened by our legendary enemy, the Lungoth. My predecessor and mother died trapping him in an unknown place."
Was it just Jemima, or was there a tear in her eye when she said that? "She wrote it in her journal, which I ordered to be burned, so that no one could release this monster.
"Someone has managed to find him and set him free. Now the Lungoth rules the dark side of the moon with his followers. My mother had a small amount of Quith blood, but I am afraid I was born without it. The only ones who can defeat our enemy are hybrids." She looked to Jemima. "Hybrids…. Of Quiths and Felines."
Jemima's head stared spinning all over again. True, she had not known her parents, but was it possible they had not been Cats, as she? Sifarow indicated for her to stand up.
"This," Sifarow said, pointing to the silver star on Jemima's forehead, "marks the joining of these two species. The colour determines how strong the inner, usually hidden power is. My mother's was gold. But silver…. Silver is the colour of an even hybrid.
"And so, please welcome Xelya, a goddess in the making!"
Jemima was standing in the centre of everyone's veiw. Sifarow smiled as everyone in the room bowed to her. Even Firarth bent his head - at the moment he was in dragon form, without real knees.
Jemima took a sharp breath and looked about. She was barely more than a kitten, and being named a goddess. Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure it would explode, and then she wouldn't be any worth to these Cats.
A few moments later, a still dazed Jemima was led into the medicine Queen's working room. The medicine Queen was firery red and white, an unusual combination.
"Just sit down," she said with a smile. "My name is Dimapax.
"Jemima," Jemima said.
"Okay, now lay back - that's a Queen - this won't hurt, I promise." Dimapax took a bag of something that smelled funny and held it under Jemima's nose until Jemima fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
* * *
Jemima sighed. She tried to roll over, but her wings felt too heavy, so she stayed where she was. Apparently Dimapax had pulled a curtain around where she lay. Voices drifted in and out through the fabric.
"Who…."
"Jemima…star…"
"Is…."
"Maybe…."
"Other…Xelya…."
Jemima twitched her ears to hear more - this was interesting.
"Elliminate…."
There was a swish of fabric, and Dimapax came in. "Are you awake, dear? Not yet? Alright."
"Elliminate?" Jemima thought. "Elliminate who? And who was that talking, anyway?"
* * *
Jemima's wings were much stronger after her treatment. She didn't talk much at dinner; her mind was filled with thoughts. Dimapax seemed so like she just couldn't be evil, but everything still pointed to her….
"Xelya? Xel-ya," Sifarow said, waving a paw in front of her face. Jemima jumped in her chair.
"Sorry! What is it?"
"Dinner's over," Sifarow said, smiling. "It is time to rest." She walked Jemima up to her room and left, shutting the door. Jemima sighed and flopped on her bed. She lay there for not a minute when she opened one eye, then both, then raised her head.
"Firarth? What are you doing here?"
Firarth was being a blanket at the moment. A good disguise, but a flaming red blanket with eyes was rather noticeable anyway. "N-nothing," he stuttered, changing into a dragon again. It was his favourite form - a squat red dragon with large claws. He could grow to any size he wished, but most of the time her stayed reasonable.
"I heard something," Jemima said, wanting to talk. "Dimapax…. You don't think it's her, do you?"
"Maybe," Firarth said with one of his rare smiles, "you're more Quith than you thought." Firarth paced about, still a dragon, in one of the many gardens outside the castle. Jemima had fallen asleep quickly. He could understand - it must be difficult for someone like her, barely more than a kitten, to take this sudden attention and surprise. His feet made a loud flop-flop noise as he walked.
Firarth stopped walking. "What do I do?" he asked, looking at the stars. He sighed and sat down.
Suddenly he heard a most distinct sound: the quiet padding of a Feline. Thinking Jemima had followed him; he peeked around the corner.
But it wasn't Jemima. It was Dimapax and a large grey Tom - one who Firarth knew wasn't a Tom at all. One of the dead giveaways was the fact he wore no face paint.
"Did you get the Queen?" Lungoth asked. His voice was more a deep rumble than a sound, but Firarth and Dimapax could both understand it well enough.
"No," Dimapax answered her voice shaky with fear. "She - she's been too close to Sifarow, we can get her tonight while she sleeps if we ---"
Lungoth grabbed Dimapax around the waist with one massive paw and lifted her up. "You have to get her before she takes on her true self! Before she's immortal!"
"We're trying!" Dimapax wheezed. She pulled at his paw. "Please, put me down."
Lungoth gave her a final squeeze, then set her back on the ground. Dimapax groomed herself as best she could, still panting and shaking.
"Go. Kill Xelya. And whatever you do - don't fail me."
Firarth gasped. Jemima was in danger! He spread his dragon wings, hoping he could get to her ---
Lungoth grabbed Firarth by the tail. He dropped his Cat form and let himself return back to the way he truly was - a large, lumpy grey monster, with sinister fangs and bulging muscles. His eyes were huge and dull, and his ears were each the size of his head.
"Going somewhere?"
* * *
Jemima woke suddenly. Something was wrong, she could feel it…. She looked around her room. After a moment, she sighed in relief - no one there. She walked into her bathroom and washed her face with some water, touching the star on her forehead.
The star began to glow. It glowed brighter and brighter - Jemima stared at the mirror she was in front of as her reflection began to shift. It slid around until it was totally different; a picture of a disgusting grey monster standing with Firarth, who was bound in ropes that had a strange aura.
She stared at the picture for a good ten minutes before crawling back into her bed. She didn't have any idea what to do. Jemima pulled the blankets up to her chin. She breathed slowly, trying to calm her stomach, which was tossing madly about within her body. Feeling somewhat calmer, she lay down. Her breath slowed until it was almost soundless, not the loud, heavy thing it had been before.
Yet still she heard breathing. Open-mouthed breathing, rushing as someone panted. Something shiny hovered above her.
Jemima was up like a rocket. Dimapax dropped her knife in surprise. "I knew it was you!" Jemima yelled. "I heard you talking - you were talking to someone about elliminating me!" she gasped as she came to a conclusion. "You were talking to the Lungoth, weren't you? Where's Firarth?"
"Dark side of the moon," Dimapax said. "As for you, my work is done here."
"What?" Jemima breathed.
"You've been yelling in your room about the Lungoth. Firarth was last seen with you, but is now missing. And funny, Dimapax seems to have died just after you visited her."
"I - I ---"
"Circumstantial evidence, yes, but that's enough here." Dimapax smiled evilly and jumped out the window. She landed on the top of some sort of flying ship, and took off to the moon.
"No," Jemima murmured softly. "No!"
She took a step directly out of the window and into the sky. Her wings caught her, and she pushed hard, flying as fast as she could. They were straining greatly and screaming with pain when she was not halfway there. She was breathing; it was a Quith talent.
"I have to help," she thought, pushing her last ounce of strength into her wings. They flapped a few more times, then faltered. Jemima passed out from exhaustion.
* * *
Lungoth sighed and turned to Dimapax. "I thought you finished her!"
"I - I left her surrounded by evidence ---"
"That wasn't enough! The little brat followed us!"
"What?!"
"You're starting to really let me down, Dimapax," Lungoth said, looking her in the eye with his cold ones. Then he looked away.
"I'll deal with you later. Now, I need to turn my attention to this Xelya. She could cause real trouble for us - especially if she can find the ex-queen's staff." He looked at Dimapax warily. "You *did* take care of that, didn't you?"
"Y-yes," Dimapax said. "I hid it right ---"
Lungoth held up a hand. "No, no, don't say it. We've got this moron on board, remember?" he said, indicating to Firarth.
Firarth resented that remark.
"Dimapax, get her. Pull her along, and make sure she doesn't get lost."
"But why?"
"Are you questioning my judgement?!"
"No! No, never!"
"Since you asked, I'll tell you," Lungoth said. "She follows, she winds up just outside here, she goes back, it buys us some time, plus, what do you think the first thing she'll say will be?"
Dimapax thought. "Help?" she offered lamely.
"No!" Lungoth said, frowning. "'They've got Firarth at the moon!'"
"Oooh," said Dimapax, nodding and smiling. "Right."
Lungoth buried his face in his hands. "How…?" he muttered.
* * *
Something whizzed by, shaking Jemima awake. She looked around. "How did I get here?" she wondered. She planned to go to the castle - but remembered what Dimapax had set up. "I can't go back! But…. What should I do?"
Looking down, she saw something small and red being forced to walk and was guarded heavily. "Firarth!" she murmured. Without much of a second thought, she zoomed down into the territory of her worst enemy to help her friend.
The airless space whipped over her wings, making such a high-pitched screaming noise Jemima was sure she was breaking several eardrums. Firarth smiled his rare Quith smile as the guards around him clamped their paws over their ears in pain, dropping the weapons.
Jemima grabbed Firarth and turned hard up, getting whiplash as she did so. Her head hurt terribly.
"Thank you," Firarth said, pulling off the rest of his ropes and flying with his own wings. Jemima smiled. One Tom managed to grab his spear gun as they raced away. He aimed it blankly at the sky. By pure chance, it shot through Jemima's left wing. She screamed and stopped flying - just hung there in space.
"Xel!" Firarth yelled. He turned hard and picked her up, taking on the form of a red Quith-Feline hybrid. They flew back to the castle; both incredibly exhausted when they were there.
Jemima pulled the spear out of her wing and threw it on the ground. She looked at the hole - a paw's width. While she was watching, it began to heal. "H-how'd I do that?" she asked.
"Quith," Firarth answered, changing into plain energy to relax. "We can heal our minor wounds faster than others."
Just then Sifarow came running up with lots of her guards and…Dimapax.
"There she is!" Dimapax yelled, pointing an accusing paw. "She just came from the moon; she works for Lungoth!"
Sifarow looked at Jemima with saddness in her eyes. "Xelya, is this true?"
Jemima didn't know what to say. She opened her mouth partway and looked back and forth, from Dimapax to Sifarow. "I…."
"See?" Dimapax said. "Guards, lock her up! She's a traitor!"
The guards began chaining Jemima. She looked to Sifarow.
Sifarow was crying. "G-go," she managed. "I c-c-can't argue with the f-facts."
"But that's wrong! It wasn't me!" Jemima wailed, wings flapping uselessly. "I swear! I swear!"
Sifarow looked away. She began walking back to the castle, face hidden in her paws. Dimapax, however, didn't every try to hide the smile she wore.
Jemima struggled more, but it was in vain. The guards carried her away. "It wasn't me!" she screamed as she went. "It wasn't! I'm trying to help!"
* * *
The dungeons were dank and dark. Only a few had a tiny narrow window that no one could possibly fit through. She happened to get one of these.
Jemima sat on the damp floor, drawing designs in the scum. Her wings were strapped to her back, and one itched horribly because it was trying to heal.
She wondered what would become of her. Maybe they would kill her. Maybe she would have her wings amputated and her star surgically removed. Maybe they'd just leave her in here forever, until she went insane and claimed she was a bunny, eating nothing but carrots till she died from bad diet.
Sighing, Jemima tried to remember how this had all started. Her mind worked its way farther and farther back - then she remembered the locket.
"Firarth, where are you?" she asked. "You know I'm innocent, why don't you help me?"
"I am trying. Let's see you squeeze all your energy into something small enough to fit through a two by one inch window."
"Firarth?"
A small red snake slithered in. "It'sss me," he answered.
"Oh, thank you!"
"Don't thank me yet," Firarth muttered. "I have sssome ssstuff to tell you."
"And that would be? Why did you come, I thought I was inferiour."
Firarth turned into a dragon - I believe he would have chosen that as his body, had he the need to chose only one.
"The first reason," he began, "is that Quith are loyal. To everyone worth it. The second reason is, you're the last hope of these poor Felines, and I pity the weak. The final reason is…." He took a breath. "You're my half sister."
Jemima made a strange sound, sort of like a water balloon when you're filling it up. "Is that possible? How do you know?"
Firarth sighed. "I was born to two Quith. My mother died. My father fell in love with your mother, a Feline, and they had you. Then your mother got sick…. After she died, my - our father couldn't take it. I was left with you. I gave you to Sifarow's mother for fostering, but soon after that Lungoth came. She sent you to the Jellicles on land, and then we needed your help…." He shook his head, as if her was clearing away the memories.
"Dimapax has alerted Lungoth that we are minus our goddess," Firarth said, pulling himself back on track. "They'll be attacking within the hour. We have less than fourty minutes to find the ex-queen's staff and get you up there with it in your paws." He looked at her. "Any ideas where Dimapax might've hid it?"
Jemima thought for a moment. "No," she said reluctantly, "but we've got to search. And if we can't find it, I'll be going into battle alone."
"Very well," Firarth said. He pushed the window larger with his dragon arms. "Let's go."
* * *
Jemima slammed a trunk closed. "Nothing. You?"
Firarth sighed. "Nothing. Come on, I have one more idea." He led her down a few halls to Sifarow's room. He tapped on the wall, pulled open a hidden panel. After a moment of feeling around in the dark, he pulled back his hand with a depressed look upon his face.
"That was my last guess," he said.
Suddenly a huge vibration wracked the castle. A purple brick fell out of the wall.
"Lungoth's attacking!" Jemima yelled. "We need to get out there!"
"Right!"
They spread their wings and flew out the window - breaking it as they did.
Outside, Lungoth was terrorizing everyone. He had somehow managed to grow to twice the size of his usual self, and was now about three feet tall. Cats and Quith ran everywhere, trying to avoid him.
Lungoth saw Jemima. "Xelya," he said, wrenching his face into what I think was supposed to be a smile. He reached down with a massive hand and pushed Jemima into the ground.
Gasping for air, Jemima lifted her head up. Lungoth hadn't thought correctly about the build of this island - she had merely fallen through. Her wings flapped hard to steer around the stalagmites of earth hanging from the bottom. It was there that she found the staff, strapped to the underside of the island.
The staff was beautiful. It was shiny silver with a black crystal at the top, rounded evenly into a perfect ball. When Jemima held it she could feel the power stored inside.
She gave it a little test wave. Nothing happened. She tapped the crystal, then tried again.
"Ahh! How do I work this thing?" exasperated, she aimed it at a stalagmite. "Just - just blow that stalagmite away. Now."
A bright light shot from the crystal and blew the stalagmite to dust. Smiling, Jemima flew back up to face Lungoth.
Sifarow's guards were running about, trying to rescuse everyone. Sifarow stood in her tower, crying. "What am I to do? I'm powerless!"
Jemima's heart broke. "It's okay," she said, flying past the window. "I'm
here."
Sifarow looked, but saw no one there. Yet somehow, just the words made her feel better.
Lungoth was still destroying everything. Jemima gave the staff a little shake, so a strong, bright ribbon flowed out of the crystal end. She flew in circles, binding Lungoth in this.
"What are you doing?" Lungoth asked boredly, but she could feel he was afraid.
"I'm stopping you, like I promised I would, and as I would do anyway," she said, concentrating her energy.
Lungoth laughed - at least, I think that's what it was. "Right. You, stop me. Look at you. You're puny, you little freakish mistake!"
Jemima tried not to let him see the words had hit home. "What?"
"You're a cross-species! Pitiful! Nature never meant to have your kind exist!"
"Apparently Mother Earth did - I'm here, aren't I?" "That's right, keep him talking," Jemima thought.
"Xelya, you are a disgrace to both Felines and Quith. You know what the first letter in your name is? X! As in crossed-out!" He laughed again, then tried to grab her. What he didn't realize was all this time she had been tying him up.
"Wha…. What did you do to me?" he asked fearfully, struggling.
"Lightbond," Jemima answered. "Positive energy, compressed into a solid which can be molded any way the creator likes." She mentally stepped back - how had she known that? Suddenly she realised - Firarth was with her in her mind! He was lending her some of his energy to help.
"Thank you."
Lungoth pulled more and more, losing his balance as he did so. He toppled over the edge of the island.
Jemima dropped all her lift and went into another ear-splitting dive. She was praying she could make it to the ground before Lungoth. "#%*@," she yelled as she chased him down, "he's heading for the junkyard!" The atmosphere came rushing into her lungs and she gasped. She hadn't breathed such thick air in days. It was also raining here, below the clouds.
Her screaming wings attracted the attention of all the Cats in the junkyard, and they raced outside to see what was making the noise. Not a smart thing to do.
Jemima landed on the floor neatly and held the staff high. She had, oh, maybe, three seconds before Lungoth was going to smash into the ground and killed everyone - including she.
"Jemima?" some Cats murmured. This was a different Jemima than they had been looking for - she had wings, her face had been decorated with black - and what was this large grey lump falling for their heads?
"Move, you morons!" she yelled shrilly. She felt Firarth explain to her what to do, then leave her mind. The Cats scattered, but kept their eyes glued to the scene.
Jemima let loose a scream she never knew she could manage. It was higher than she had ever sung, even in Memory. And in a way, it was low as well, so low no one but elephants would have been able to hear it. She felt the vibrations flow through the air as clearly as if she saw them. They hit Lungoth and suddenly he made a change of course and shot up, up, UP through the clouds and slammed into the moon.
Panting and exhausted, Jemima collapsed.
* * *
Jellylorum ran to Jemima. She stared for a moment, trying to take in the wings and all. It turned out she didn't have to do anything, for Sifarow came down then. Firarth had let her and her scribe ride on his back.
"Xelya?" she asked, running over. The scribe followed, Firarth watched. There was no answer from Jemima's body.
"Who are you?" Munkustrap asked, eyeing Firarth-the-dragon warily. "This is not 'Xelya', this is Jemima."
"You are mistaken," Sifarow said, glaring at Munkustrap a little. "This is the mortal body of Xelya, Goddess of Protection."
"Jemima," Munkustrap retorted.
"Xelya," Sifarow insisted.
"Jemima."
"Xelya."
"Stop," Firarth said, stepping forward. "Watch."
A glowing form of Jemima stepped out of the body. She looked around and tested her wings, as if she had always been transparent.
The wings on Jemima-the-solid-one misted and disappeared. The star on her forehead melted away. In a moment, she was the same Jemima the Jellicles had known. She sat up and rubbed her head.
"What happened?" she murmured.
"What is your name, One?" Sifarow asked.
Jemima-the-solid-one stared. "I feel as though you asked me that before, but I cannot remember you. My name is Jemima."
Munkustrap got a "hah, told you so," look on.
Jemima-the-transparent-one picked up the staff. "I am Xelya."
"The strain on the one form was too much," Firarth explained. "She has parted and become two, each exactly as they should be for their part in their lives." He held our his hand, and Xelya took it.
"This is our Goddess, Sifarow." He helped Jemima up.
"And this is your Jemima."
A blinding flash of light exploded from Xelya's staff. Everyone blinked.
None of the Jellicles remembered a thing. Xelya, Firarth, Sifarow and the scribe stood on a fixed island, with a perfect castle.
Everything was to its place.
